


Hell Hath No Fury...

by Shihane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Minor) Foul Language, (Minor) Graphic Scenes of Violence, (Minor) World-Building, Alternate Universe - Non-Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Wizard World, Creature Harry Potter, Creature Magics, Crime Boss Tom Riddle, Gray Harry Potter, Harry Treated Like An Equal, Intelligent Harry Potter, Jealous Tom Riddle, M/M, Obsessed Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, magical theories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shihane/pseuds/Shihane
Summary: It’s an incredibly busy night in the Chamber of Secrets and junior bartender Harry Potter appreciates the very brisk business. What he doesn’t appreciate is trouble finding him. Again.





	1. What This Night Brings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honeyrosekisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyrosekisses/gifts).



"Nine Goblin Golds, ten Hellraisers, eight Firestorms, six White Witches, five Twilight Falls and five Midsummer's Dreams." 

Looking towards the familiar, bright voice, Harry Potter merely flashed a quick smile in acknowledgement alongside a sharp nod; the youth already moving swiftly around his part of the massive circular bar built into the center of the vast pub and lounge of the Chamber of Secrets, the Wizarding World's most famous and popular club. 

His hands darted around; placing the differently shaped and sized glasses that matched each of the beverages along the wide countertop then snatching up bottles and mixing tumblers with practiced ease and uncanny speed. His movements soon were a blur as he poured, shook, tossed and prepared each order perfectly. The stunning waitress who had rattled off the impressive list of drinks gracefully settled into a stool set before the long, curved bar. However, as she had been trained; she kept her azure eyes roving her section of the grand luxurious pub and lounge for any sign the patrons might want anything. 

Seeing no calls or signals, she drawled, a mix of mild weariness and satisfaction underlining her alto voice. "Really busy for a Wednesday night." 

Harry hummed in agreement, never slowing or faltering in his work. He only deigned to chime in when he had a good number of the drinks done and lined up for her. "At least the tips will be good; even if we're going to be dead when this shift's finally over." 

She chuckled quietly, nodding. "True, it's only 12:00AM and I've made a killing with my tips. I'm sure your night's been great too." 

Harry tossed her a crooked but no less happy smile of his own. "Sure has been." 

He set the completed nine Goblin Golds, ten Hellraisers and eight Firestorms down on a small round tray and held this out to the waitress. "Here are your first orders; when you get back, I'll give you the next or even all of the rest if you take too long. See you around, Camille." 

Camille bobbed her head briskly. "Thanks for the fast and fantastic work as always, Harry!" She hopped off the stool, tucked the chair close to the bar and scooped up the laden tray without disturbing the drinks in the slightest. 

Then, she sashayed back out onto the floor and began delivering the beverages. 

Harry glanced over her infrequently as he continued his job; admiring her fluid and deft movements as she navigated between the tables, couches and armchairs. The black, silver and emerald uniform of the Chamber of Secrets—a tailored, long-sleeved silver blouse underneath a fitted emerald vest and finished off with a pair of black leggings ending in ebony, very polished pointed low boots—like always looked great on her winsome figure. Her wavy strawberry blond hair was gathered in a neat topknot on her head and swayed lightly with every step and turn she performed. Harry mused idly if he really looked as good as Camille, and all the rest of the Chamber's staff, insisted he did. Well, he'd concede that green was definitely his color. His uniform was in the same shades and consisted of a tailored, long-sleeved silver shirt underneath an emerald waistcoat and completed by a pair of black trousers. Fortunately, the designated shiny, black boots were not as pointed and were very comfortable. Camille had assured him her own pair was equally comfortable, despite appearances. 

He had just gently set a fruit slice onto the last beverage when he noticed his partner wasn't back. Neatening up for the next orders, Harry watched Camille making a careful circuit, taking up any finished drinks and asking if the patrons wanted anything else. When she returned, she sent Harry a devious little smirk when she traded the still laden tray but now with empty glasses and containers for a new one carrying all of the remaining drinks. 

Harry cocked an eyebrow expectantly. "Alright," he said carefully. "how bad is it?" 

The smirk deepened, and Camille practically sang out, "Twelve Hellraisers, seven White Witches, nine Midsummer's Dreams, six Twilight Falls, nine Goblin Golds _again_ —those Goblins are definitely celebrating something—and _these_." She simply handed Harry a small but filled page ripped from her order booklet. 

Reading the tidily scribbled words, Harry groaned quietly. " _Twenty_ - _nine_ Blood Wines?" the black-haired youth looked up and around. He wanted to groan again when he saw that the last few free tables were now filled; one corner occupied by a small army of young Vampires and several, clearly, Elder Vampires. 

"Someone was turned several days ago and finally settled into her new life, apparently," Camille told him unhelpfully; still grinning at him mercilessly. "They're celebrating the event." 

"Obviously," Harry said wryly, busily setting down clean glasses and reading the bottles and tumblers again. "Looks like it's Lei again. Isn't this like his second Childe in a year?" 

"Fourth," Camille corrected smoothly. "He lost two of his Childers to those fucking Vampire killers two years ago. I think this is his way of coping. Poor guy; he's such a wonderful father too. I know losing Elsa and Roan hit him really hard." She went quiet for a moment, then continued softly. "I miss them too; Elsa was really feisty but sweet when you get past her natural distrust of non-Vampires, and Roan had the most ridiculous sense of humor I've seen. He made me laugh so easily…" 

His hands moving at a nearly maniacal pace, Harry still easily managed a pained grimace. "Right, now I remember. At least that group was taken out quickly. They did a good amount of damage before they got caught and wiped out, though. I'm just glad it wasn't much worse." 

"They were made a damn good example to any other idiots who think they can do this kind of shite. We're not going to put up with this anymore!" 

From the corner of his eye, he could just glimpse Camille's new grin. It was positively feral now. 

Abruptly, the young woman snatched up the other tray; miraculously somehow not spilling a single drop. "Anyway!" she cleared her throat, flushing a little. "Sorry about it, I shouldn't be standing around. Be back in a bit." 

She hurried off. 

Harry felt his own lips lift at the corners. He couldn't blame Camille for her good mood; things _had_ been steadily looking up for all Creatures, Dark and Light, as well as for the less fortunate Magical folk in Britain. It was just incredibly ironic that the help and the support wasn't from the British Ministry of Magic… 

Shortly, a long colorful line of chilled and steaming beverages were laid out on the long bar in front of him. Harry couldn't help but grin at the sight, especially since he knew this was another job well done. Camille was taking these away as swiftly as she could while Harry finished up; saving the Blood Wines for last since some orders had specific requests included and he also wanted to add something a little extra good for the newborn as a small welcome of his own. Camille had been more than willing to tell him which drink was hers. 

The waitress sent him a saucy wink when he gave her the tray of Blood Wines. "Thanks, and I'll make sure your gift arrives safely." 

"You have my utmost trust, milady," Harry said solemnly before breaking into a faint smile as the waitress laughed softly. 

"Oh, and before I forget…" She recited another horrendously long list of new beverages. 

Harry huffed in mock exasperation before shooing her off. Flexing his fingers out of habit, Harry once again set out to make the drinks. However, he wasn't as fast as he could have been because he was surreptitiously and very eagerly watching as the new Vampire shyly accepted the glass from a brightly smiling and talking Camille; took a small sip, blinked, swallowed… then, lit up with a brilliant, fanged smile—before downing the entire cocktail in a single gulp to the cries of amusement and admonitions from her friends and family. Camille was smirking broadly as she moved on to the next table. 

Inwardly beaming with satisfaction, Harry now focused fully on his work. 

When Camille returned; she had had another, thankfully, short order of new beverages. He called to her and wordlessly handed her a tray with a new glass of Blood Wine and nodded towards the table where they were signaling for her. 

Taking the tray, Camille beamed. "Turning into quite the little mind-reader, are we?" 

Harry shrugged modestly. "Must be all the torture—I mean, _training_ I went through. Anticipating our customers' wants is one of our core missions after all." 

"Oh, don't you start!" Camille snorted good-naturedly. "I hear too much of that from Avis already! I don't need you taking after him that much!" 

Still laughing, the waitress raced off to deliver the glass. She was back nearly immediately. "You've got a new fan!" she proclaimed, while chuckling, tilting her head towards the table. "Lei says thanks and check your tip box tonight." 

Harry looked over and smiled warmly at the grinning faces; returning the wave and raised glasses several of the Vampires offered him as well as bowing his head towards the Elder Vampire who had nodded faintly in appreciation. 

Camille was already loading a free tray and was determinedly clearing the long, curved bar of the completed orders. On one of her trips, though, she had a new list for Harry but, fortunately, this wasn't too large so he easily had the entire batch ready for her when she was still passing out the rest of the beverages he had set out on the counter. 

"Seriously, your speed is insane!" Camille moaned. She heaved a tired, aggrieved sigh. "I wish Becky was here today." 

"You know we normally only have our extras come in on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays." Harry reminded her before adding. "Want me to help you give out the drinks?" 

"Well, this feels like a payday Saturday… along with half our regulars winning some raffle or other! I mean, you have to admit; it's like half the Magical Creature _and_ Wizarding population of Britain is in here…" Camille blinked then shook her head vigorously, her smile appreciative and fond. "No, but thanks. I'm still good." 

Harry dipped his head. "Well, think of it this way. The more drinks we finish giving out. The longer our break is as they'll savor the third or fourth glass and I think we're on that number with a lot of the customers by now." 

She hummed. "Always the bright side." Giving him a playful, dismissive wave, Camille loaded up and strode off. 

Harry stared after her; seeing her gathering more empty glasses and pausing to chat with the Vampires, clearly taking a few more orders and moving onto another table calling for her. Heaving his own faintly tired sigh, Harry swiftly triggered the enchantments built into the sink and bar to clear up the large pile of dirty glasses and bottles. He had lost count of the number of times he had done it this evening; it was really that busy. Despite witnessing this often, Harry gazed on with a small smile as the items were thoroughly cleansed and returned to their places along the shelves and holders for when he would need them again. In hardly more than a minute, Harry had a pristine workspace. 

He really loved magic! 

_It's a good thing, we don't handle the food at all_ , Harry mused again with relief. _But then, food can be magically prepared_. _Our drinks could be too but that would ruin most of them_ … 

Camille dropped by to unload more empty glasses as well as a new list of beverages. Harry had nodded once to her and, with hardly any effort or thought, set to work. When he finished this batch, he counted and noted that the line of drinks was dwindling quickly. Looking over to Camille again, he spotted her still among the tables. Surmising, she wouldn't be back soon; Harry began physically wiping down and fixing up his once more very dirty and cluttered workspace. He could have used the enchantments again but he found the act of cleaning relaxing and kept his hands busy. He never handled being idle well. Besides, with the extremely and volatile magical ingredients the bar's shelves contained; the Chamber of Secrets didn't allow the bartenders to use of their magic. Any magic that helped them perform their jobs was carefully controlled and concentrated, specially crafted and layered around the entire establishment via runes or enchanted stones. The vast, intricate spell-web ensured the multitude of different magics worked seamlessly together and only those magics or whatever other magics the Owner allowed. 

Of course, the staff of the Chamber of Secrets could still use their wands and natural magics but for anyone else who came here… well, that was entirely another story. 

Besides, this had never been a real issue for Harry. He couldn't use magic in the standard way after all so it was implausible he could damage or contaminate the ingredients unlike the few wizards and witches who were also hired bartenders. Giving a little shake of his head, Harry realized he had already finished, he inspected the result and nodded in satisfaction. Camille had passed by then and scooped up half of the glasses waiting to be delivered. Best of all, she didn't have a new list to give him this time. 

Still, Harry kept himself prepared. Evidently, the clients tonight were planning to get soused. Well, some of them. 

Craning his neck slightly, Harry's eyes flickered over to the Goblins who were laughing uproariously, gesticulating broadly and likely shouting at each other even if they believed they were only ‘talking normally'. Thankfully, the silencing bubbles each table held kept the noise contained to their table only. From his tally, they had each ordered six Goblin Golds already; an impressive number even for the diminutive creatures. 

Snorting lightly and a soft smile adorning his lips, Harry slowly began to look around. Even crowded, the vast pub and lounge was still a lovely sight to see. 

The high ceiling overhead was cast in soft shadows but, with the mutely glowing silver-white orbs generously spread out around the cavernous room, Harry's keen eyes could easily see the rich wood reflect the silver lines here and there. The wood paneling and fixtures was dark, nearly black; contrasting and accentuating the cushions and upholstery in countless shades of deep but vibrant greens, with silver and ivory highlights. The design of this room was a mix of modern and classic; elegance matched with comfort and was somehow both sophisticated and timeless. 

Harry definitely looked forward to being assigned here, hopefully, for longer than a month this time! 

With nothing else to do for the moment, the youth sank onto a stool inside his area and began stretching sore muscles. Camille hadn't been exaggerating. It was a very, unusually busy night; especially for a Wednesday. Their regulars normally dropped by on the weekends; weekdays ordinarily saw the newcomers and tourists. Just his luck that tonight all three were present. 

It was so hectic, Harry agreed wholeheartedly with Camille, that it felt like a payday weekend, right after a bonus was given out! Those nights were absolutely _mad_! 

Harry shuddered slightly as he recalled last month. He had started mixing drinks the moment he stepped behind the counter and didn't stop until his replacement had shown up… even then, as he was leaving one of the regulars had asked for a final drink just from him! Harry hadn't had the heart to refuse. It was also pure luck, he had the day off afterwards; Harry slept eighteen hours straight then. 

To be honest, he wasn't exactly complaining, really. As Camille had said, busy nights meant big tips and Harry _needed_ all the extra gold he could get… 

"Break's over! No more slacking, kid!" Camille called cheerfully, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Here's the next batch…" 

Rolling his eyes playfully, Harry stood, listened intently before making the new drinks as ordered; mind wandering as his hands knew exactly what to do without any direction from his brain. It looked like the monstrously long lists were back. 

Camille took a seat and waited silently, a clear sign she was tired as the usually chatty blond would be making comments to pass the time. 

This left Harry to reminisce. He had plans but not the gold needed to see them through. At least, not until four months ago when he had landed the highly coveted position of a junior bartender here in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry hadn't quite believed it himself until he had begun training. Well, more like put under torture. Because, really, some of the tasks they wanted him to perform frequently would have sorely tested even the magic of a strong Wizard or Witch or a very robust Creature. 

And Harry didn't have the magic. At least, what would be considered magic. 

What he did have, though, more than made up for it. 

Harry was incredibly swift; he could act in less than a moment's passing. He could move with speed that easily surpassed an Elder Vampire or an Alpha Wolf. Harry had tested himself against both Creatures just to check. He was very resilient, healed very quickly and was immune to poisons, (not that he had tested to see how potent a poison had to be to hurt him. He wasn't _that_ reckless. Really). 

Lastly, he had a very special ability. His greatest secret and, ironically, his best, most-often used skill before he came to work in the Chamber of Secrets… he was a Parselmouth. When he had first discovered this ability, Harry had slowly realized he could make a small, _steady_ profit by working with snakes as many Magical shops especially Apothecaries, and even Saint Mungo's, needed a near endless supply of both magical and non-magical venom. 

Harry had long suspected he was some kind of Half-Breed. He had checked himself over carefully and he certainly wasn't a full Magical Creature or Being. His appearance was far too Human… A full Magical Creature or Being had at least one distinctly inhuman physical feature that could not be concealed unless by magical means. However, the serpents he interacted with in his many odd jobs informed him that while he was Human, he was also a Serpent. Simply one who had ‘changed his skin to adapt'. 

Harry had puzzled over this revelation but had found no concrete answer; he had little sources to solve the mystery after all. He only knew for certain that his Creature Nature was definitely a snake of some kind. Unfortunately, there were countless Magical Snakes and Serpentine Magical Creatures in the Magical World. Harry hadn't known where to begin looking after he had exhausted what meager bits of knowledge and research he had come across in his search. Then, he remembered Gringotts. 

Of course, the Goblins weren't going to help him for free. 

Nordrak, the Goblin manager, Harry had met and spoken with had been very willing to grant him a loan if the youth wanted to know then and there but the rate was still too steep for Harry even if the Goblin had offered a ‘discount' as he was a Half-Breed. Harry suspected that Nordrak had been very interested to know of his Creature Inheritance because of what profits the Goblin and his nation could gain from this knowledge. Harry hadn’t held this against the Creature; after all, Goblins were shrewd businessmen and the epitome of the consummate opportunist. Harry had politely declined and instead asked for the price and if there was a time limit before the price changed. He would earn the gold then come back for the Inheritance Test. Nordrak had informed him that the price was unlikely to change. However, some tests revealed more than others and the final fee rested on exactly how much Harry wanted to discover. 

Considering this, Harry had simply asked for the most thorough Inheritance Test Gringotts could provide and how much it would be. 

The cost Nordrak casually quoted still caused him nightmares. 

Harry shuddered internally at the memory of hearing the price that first time. 

His thoughts were interrupted briefly when Camille gave him a few words of thanks as she took the latest orders. He looked on as she took off briskly with the laden tray. Harry had three other trays ready for her when she returned. She didn’t spare him more than a curt wordless nod of gratitude for this round before darting off; Harry didn’t mind this at all. Finding another reprieve, the youth glanced towards a small clock again and realized it was around 1:30AM already. 

As he patiently waited for any new order, his mind once again veered off into his memories. 

While the cost of that Gringotts Inheritance Test still haunted him, Harry wasn't one to back down. He was determined to get one in the future. It would definitely hold the answers he wanted, _needed_ to know. Harry had realized shortly after visiting Gringotts that his small jobs weren't going to get him those funds at all; at least not in the near or even distant future. So, if he wanted to make enough gold to afford the Inheritance Test in the next six years, he had to be more ambitious. Harry began searching for quality work over quantity jobs. In the past, his most lucrative bet had been his Parseltongue ability so Harry had utilized it as best he could while keeping his employers ignorant of his gift. Parseltongue was greatly prized and equally feared. Harry knew that if anyone discovered him; he would either be kidnapped and controlled so others could make use of the rare and exceedingly useful talent for their own personal gains. In the worst case, he could be sent to Azkaban because many in the British Ministry would have assumed he was some Dark Wizard. 

This caution had severely cut into his profits and was one of the major reasons he wouldn’t earn the gold he so desperately needed. 

Harry had never been ashamed of his Parseltongue gift; he was very proud of this talent. But he was very wary of letting others know. Not only because of what might happen to him but if, by discovering his Parseltongue gift, his Creature Nature was also revealed. He would be caged and sold like an exotic pet or worse, turned into some experiment; ultimately, never to be treated as something even remotely Human. 

It was times like this, he had been grateful he looked too Human to be mistaken for a Magical Creature. Harry had seen just how the normal British Wizard and Witch, along with their vaunted Ministry, regarded Magical Creatures and even Squibs. The discrimination towards Humans who had Creature Blood was complex but no less deplorable. 

He had never been so disgusted. 

Harry frowned. _I'm brooding again_ , he berated himself. _Stop thinking about the past_. _It's over_ , _the present is great and the future is looking even better_! 

He looked up suddenly and saw Camille peering down at him with some concern. "Harry, you okay?" 

Smiling lopsidedly, Harry bobbed his head. "Yes, still trying to break that habit." 

"Ah." Camille gave him such a motherly smile that the youth flushed and ducked his head, hand raking through his messy black hair. "If it gets too much, you know we're here. Alright, kiddo?" 

The new smile he offered her was wider, brighter but still a little shy. "I know. Thank you." 

"Good." She leaned over. "And, to get your mind out of its funk; I have just the thing!" 

Harry leveled her with a bland, unimpressed stare when she rattled off a killer list of new orders. "Please don't tell me you waited so it would get that long." 

" _Me_?" Camille chirped innocently. "I would never do such a thing." 

Harry snorted loudly in blatant disbelief. "Of course, you wouldn’t." 

He set to work as Camille plopped down on the stool in front of him and began a steady stream of gossip; her rich voice rising and falling as she told Harry the latest news on the Chamber's Grapevine, unmindful when Harry didn't engage her but only grunted and hummed in intervals as he was solely focused on the task of getting the drinks completed perfectly and quickly as possible. Even if he had only moved to this floor three weeks ago, Harry knew how much his regulars could drink and how a quick refill kept them asking for more and leaving large tips afterwards to show their satisfaction. 

As he relaxed into the routine, his thoughts meandered again but to brighter, happier times. 

His first real lucky break was when he had found a trampled pamphlet advertising an open slot for a trainee bartender at the Chamber of Secrets. The only real required skills were good reflexes, hand-eye coordination, physical fitness and a good mind. A rather rare skillset since most wizards and witches were prone to rely on magic for everything. Harry had been confused, too. Why not just have the drinks made magically? 

When he applied, was accepted and discovered the processes involved; he finally understood exactly why. 

The Chamber of Secrets was considered the finest club in the Magical World (Harry had been wholly impressed to learn that it was famed in all countries that had a Magical Community!) for several reasons. First, the club’s assurance and persistent delivery of absolute privacy for its many patrons alongside the many decadent luxuries offered, for all Magical Folk. Second, the Chamber’s impeccable record of always providing this multitude of services perfectly and of the highest standard imaginable by their clientele. Third, and Harry suspected the largest factor in the club’s incredible fame were the Chamber of Secret’s Signature Cocktails. Each drink had to be handcrafted as they were magical drinks that would be ruined if foreign magic was included which was what would happen if they were made via magic. Harry had even tasted the drinks both ways so he would see how different they would be. The magical version of those cocktails were the stuff of horror. 

Their handcrafted versions were definitely dream-worthy, though. And because of the exorbitant pricetags on some of them; Harry would prefer to dream about them instead of buying them! Even if he had an Employee's Discount. Just spending that many galleons for a single drink… Harry still physically cringed. 

He had to muffle said cringe at the memories and handed Camille a laden tray. She thanked him warmly and swept off. Harry had three other crowded platters waiting for her when she returned to take to the waiting tables. Harry glanced towards the small clock he had set beside his tip box again, and realized it was around 2:15AM now. He lifted the lid and beamed happily when he saw the huge pile of coins inside; there was an expansion charm on the box so it would never overflow but from what he could see; the tips were really pouring in tonight! 

Seeing that Camille had no new drinks she needed him to make, Harry took another break. He wasn't really tired but it was always best to rest whenever there was time. 

The training for his position, despite its grueling aspect, had been very educational and, rarely, even fun at certain points. Harry had easily passed because of his uncanny reflexes but the steps he had to memorize for each beverage and all the drinks he needed to know how to prepare brought him to near tears at night—Harry still remembered the long days and nights he would be busily reading over the Beverage booklets his mentor had given him. In the end, it had proved to be more than worth it. Avis Locke, the head Bartender of the Chamber, was doubly proud of him. Unfortunately, Avis was so impressed with Harry he was constantly giving the youth new challenges to improve his already extensive skillset. 

And, strangely, these weren't all about making drinks… 

Initially, Avis had stationed him on the First and Second floors when he cleared the training program. The pay there was slightly above average and had hardly any benefits. Most of all, Harry shared his tips with the rest of the waitering staff. Yes, he made far more than what he would from all of his old, little jobs combined, and the income had been steady. But, it wasn't substantial enough for him. 

Harry had calculated he would need three years in order to make the cost of the Goblin Inheritance Test even if he saved aggressively. 

Harry wasn't that patient. 

Avis had offered a gamble when Harry asked about gaining additional incentives or even quick promotions in the club. 

If Harry could learn how to make the Chamber's best, signature Cocktail flawlessly; Avis would move him to the fourth floor and informed him what benefits the promotion would give him. Harry had almost instantly agreed but stopped himself. When he had been training under Avis, he had learned to be _very_ wary when his mentor's amber eyes started flashing. When Avis had made his offer, those said eyes were _gleaming_. 

{ . ( . | : / . [ : ] . \ : | . ) . }

" _What's the catch?_ " 

" _Why ever do you think there's a catch, Harry?_ " 

" _Because you're clearly enjoying this and when you do, there's a fifty-fifty chance it's going to be at my expense_." 

" _Ah, so smart. And yes, it is going to be ‘ **at your expense** '._" 

" _What exactly do you mean by that?_ " 

" _Making the Chamber of Secret's greatest drink is not only exceedingly difficult but very expensive_." 

" _How expensive?_ " 

" _A single glass is 2,500 galleons_." 

" _WHAT_. _THE_. _BLOODY_. **HELL?!** " 

" _We sell on average 100 glasses on a weeknight and around 200 glasses on Fridays, 500 glasses on Saturdays and 300 glasses on Sundays. Payday weekends normally reach figures as high as 700 a night and our best record was 1,300 for a single night several years ago_." 

" _ **Oh**_ , _**Sweet Merlin**_." 

" _So, would you like to learn how to make this drink?_ " 

" _What happens if it takes me a long time and a lot of attempts to even make one?_ " 

" _Well, with how much a glass costs; I can't teach you by having you make the drink until it's perfect, of course. The costs we'd ramp up would put you and me, if I am stupid enough to even allow it in the first place, in debt for decades!_ " 

" _How am I going to learn, then? You always said, practice makes perfect!_ " 

" _Well, not in this case. Practice here will just make you sell yourself to pay for the figure you'll likely reach. No! What you'll do is shadow me as I make the drink and when I think you've learned enough from observation, you try to make one._ " 

" _Is it really very hard to make this drink?_ " 

" _Yes, extremely hard since you need very good reaction time and you need to have a high sensitivity to magic and how it flows and interacts with different types of magical energies and essences so you know the exact instant when you have to mix all the ingredients into the drink to get its best effect._ " 

" _Basically, how you trained me to make the other drinks here. So, what exactly is the difference?_ " 

" _Windows of opportunity. Mixing the Chamber's normal and elite beverages are all about precise timing, and as you just said, knowing when the magics in the ingredients are perfectly aligned to be blended together. Secondly, you don't have a time constraint; you just need to know the best point to mix to get the ultimate result. You could take anywhere from one second to twenty minutes if you wanted. Of course, I don't recommend wasting twenty minutes on any one drink. The Chamber prides itself on swift delivery of services and products_ —" 

" _ **Avis**. I get it; I got it the last twenty-seven times you said this in class_." 

" _You seriously counted how many times I repeated that line?_ " 

" _Not me, Tony did. He even drew up a detailed chart of how many times you reminded the entire class about each one of the rules and regulations of the Club in his hearing. It's a pretty impressive spreadsheet. The most important rule to you is efficiency and precision; you repeated the rule every single session we had with you. This one was second._ " 

" _…Huh. I knew Hilda chose well when she hired him. Kid's got an incredible memory along with keen attention to details, he'd go far in the Chamber!_ " 

" _Or he was just so bored hearing you repeat the same thing over and over, he decided to just tally the number for some fun._ " 

" _That, too… **Right**. As I was saying! You can take as long or as short as you want to make all of the drinks. Our best drink, however, has to be mixed properly in eight seconds_." 

" _EIGHT SECONDS?!_ " 

" _You can prepare the ingredients beforehand and have them set to go but the instant you start: you need to have them all properly mixed in eight seconds or the conflicting natures of the ingredients will destroy the drink utterly. Another problem is when you begin to combine the ingredients; each time you have to know instinctively in what order they have to be put in. For each glass, the sequence of combining the ingredients changes. That's why you need to have good sensitivity to the magics. It will tell you what ingredient goes in next._ " 

"…" 

" _Still interested?_ " 

" _How many ingredients goes into this drink?_ " 

" _Just four_." 

" _Thank Merlin for small favors. You said it's going to cost me if I botch up, in what way?_ " 

" _Ah. Yes. Well, while the first three failed drinks won't come out of your paycheck_ … _the succeeding ones will be charged accordingly_." 

" _You mean each time I fail to make this cocktail; I'm going to owe the Chamber 2,500 galleons?!_ " 

" _Yes_." 

"…" 

"…" 

"…" 

" _Changed your mind?_ " 

" _How many drinks did you botch before you got it right?_ " 

" _…eleven. Not counting the first three I messed up_." 

" _What was the worst number of failed attempts?_ " 

" _Twenty-five_." 

" _How long did you take to pay it back to the club?_ " 

" _About four years_." 

" _And how long did it take the person who hit twenty-five?_ " 

" _He's still paying it back. It's been six years, I believe_." 

"…" 

" _I know it's rather daunting, if you want to wait until you're older_ —" 

" _How many of the bartenders here can make this drink?_ " 

" _All senior Bartenders have to be capable of making it; it's one of the requirements to reach the rank and position. There are twenty-nine senior Bartenders currently_." 

" _If I am able to make this drink, does that mean I have the rank of senior bartender?_ " 

" _If you can make it consistently_." 

" _What do you mean?_ " 

" _The final test of making the drink is to make the cocktail thirty times in a row, perfectly, and you need to do this within a limited timeframe_." 

" _And, if I fail even once?_ " 

" _You don't make the rank, you owe the club 2,500 and you start from zero. But, if you can make the drink successfully at all, you still receive a commission on a per glass basis_." 

" _Oh?_ " 

" _Of course_. _The Chamber will always reward expertise and exemplary performance. You instantly receive 50 galleons for each successful glass, along with any additional tips from the patron if they deigned to give you such._." 

" _I see. I take it this is the only way to reach the rank of senior bartender?_ " 

" _Got it in one_." 

" _I can stop at three failed drinks and try again after more training, right?_ " 

" _As long as you remember that any and all attempts that fail afterwards is 2,500 galleons each_." 

"…" 

" _So, what's your decision, Harry_?" 

" _Bring it_." 

" _Wonderful, we'll start tomorrow night! This is going to be **fun**! For me, of course. Not you. But, still, good luck, Harry!_ " 

{ . ( . | : / . [ : ] . \ : | . ) . }

Yes, everyone in the Chamber of Secrets was sadistic, to some degree. 

Harry had certainly picked up some of this sadistic streak in the last five months. 

He had boldly risen to the challenge, accepting the encouragement and good-natured jeering. The betting pool in the Chamber for and against his eventual success had been nuts. Harry had been very touched the entire staff believed he would eventually succeed. They were just split over how many glasses he would destroy before he actually did. The final pot had reached a little above the cost of 2,500 and there had been jokes that the winner could donate it to poor Harry when he inevitably failed his fourth attempt and started the meter for future flops. 

Harry had secretly wagered in his favor on a successful fourth drink; Camille had been more than willing to put in the ten galleons along with her own ten galleons and had told Harry she would let him have three-fourths of the pot if he did win. He could have publicly made his bet but he didn't want the others to copy him and he would be forced to share the gold with more people if he won. 

The month he spent watching Avis raptly each time he made the drink was wild; Harry had come to see why it was the best drink of the club. Avis had let him taste the concoction just like all the other drinks and it had been _unbelievable_! If he ever had that much free gold, Harry secretly admitted to himself, he would buy the cocktail. 

The youth had waited until he had seen the mixing of several hundred glasses before he tried his first one. 

Naturally, he failed. 

Undaunted, Harry picked apart what he did incorrectly, where the process had gone wrong and how to fix it. He also returned to observing Avis for several days. 

The second attempt was again another failure but had invaluable lessons. Harry found exactly what and where he was lacking, and what he needed to improve. He continued the same pattern; analyzed his second attempt, compared this to his first attempt, saw where he went wrong, how to make it right, then watching Avis craft the drink to see if his two attempts were similar and how close they had been to Avis' perfect cocktail. 

His third attempt failed but, when matched with the first two concoctions… Harry finally narrowed down where he was really falling short. 

When he attempted his fourth effort, he had a huge audience. While the Chamber of Secrets never closed, there were rare days of slow shifts, especially in the higher floors. The restaurant on the first level was never empty, though. 

Harry smiled broadly at the memory of the moment; the look of disbelief on the face of Avis, then the other bartenders present as they each took a sip, would be powerful enough to fuel a Patronus. If, he ever could cast one… 

The overwhelming cheers, platitudes and mournful wails from his co-workers who had lost the bet afterwards just made the memory only sweeter. Camille had preened exaggeratedly, accepted the overflowing pot and made a short amusing speech about her plans for the gold to the loud laughter, cajoles and suggestions of the throng. Afterwards, she had met Harry outside the club and, to his surprise and delight, simply handed him the entire pot. She had confided to him that she was going to wager him failing two more attempts before getting it right so as far as she was concerned all of it was rightfully his. She had only placed her bet the same as him so no one was the wiser. 

Harry had thanked her profusely, and Camille had suggested he use the gold to get that signature drink for himself and make Avis do it for kicks and minor revenge since, no matter how many times the drink was prepared, there was still a small margin of failure and if Avis failed; it would just be the icing on his cake of victory. Harry had laughed hard over the extremely tempting idea. Recalling his first and last oh-so-memorable taste, Harry reflexively licked his lips and made a small hungry noise to his embarrassment. Camille hadn't even laughed and only nodded in understanding. 

The Chamber of Secrets' best Signature Cocktail truly deserved all the accolades, worldwide fame and rather fitting name. 

The Basilisk. 

In the end, Harry had simply deposited his gains; he was aiming for that Gringotts Inheritance Test. He wasn't going to lose track of his goal. The knowledge he would receive was too vital for him to be frivolous simply because he had a lucky windfall. The 2,671 galleons brought him to a little over halfway of his monetary goal. 

His ability to even make the drink and flawlessly still landed him a much-wanted pay hike along with the occasional special tip for each glass he prepared. Harry diligently had continued to make the drink but only several glasses in a single night and never in succession. He hadn't attempted the thirty glasses in a row yet; he wanted to be able to make the cocktail with true confidence and ease before he took up the grueling test. Harry had successfully mixed sixteen Basilisks on different nights so far even if he knew it wouldn't count against those thirty glasses. 

_Maybe after I pay off that Gringotts Inheritance Test, I can save up for that glass_ , he mused longingly. The cost of a single glass was still outrageous. But, he had to admit, it was worth every knut. 

Harry blew out a breath and shook his head. _One goal at a time_ , _Potter_ , he chided himself. _Getting too ambitious is going to get you nowhere or, worse, pull you down. Don't bite off more than you can chew_ … 

Harry grunted when Camille's voice washed over him; detailing a few small orders. He was grateful for the lull; there had been a steady stream of beverages while he had been lost in his recollections but no real difficult orders. After eighteen weeks of constantly making drinks; Harry wasn't surprised he was doing it all without any real thought. Of course, he still double-checked if someone had a special preference. The waiting staff were always quick to inform the patrons what could be added or removed from the cocktails to preserve the quality while personalizing the taste. 

Fortunately, only the Blood Wines were problematic… 

Amidst a new batch of glasses, Harry reminded himself idly he had a meeting with Avis tomorrow in the early afternoon so he needed to meet the man before his shift. _From what Brion told me the other day, there's actually an even more potent drink that the Chamber offers. Avis is going to show me_ , Harry hummed, curious, excited and slightly nervous. _But it's not on the normal menu_ … _I wonder why_ … 

He derailed his musing briefly to give Camille the glasses, noting how she had finally gotten to sit more often. Although, she was still called away frequently. Camille's job was probably more hectic than his was. While she didn't make any drinks, she handled taking all of the orders; both food and beverage. Luckily, engraved onto each table or chair was a tiny rune which touched by any waitstaff would connect them directly to the kitchens and the food order would be delivered immediately to the designated guest once completed. Also, once the dish was empty, it was automatically vanished back to the kitchens. 

Harry was mildly surprised that the crowd wasn't thinning when he heard his clock nearly inaudibly chimed the hour: 3:00AM. Normally, by this point, especially on a weekday, most patrons would have begun to leave. Harry merely shrugged at the minor mystery. 

Finding himself free again, Harry found himself once more marveling how much life had changed for him so quickly and so positively. 

Shortly after he had turned seven, Harry had run away from the house he had lived in. It was never a home to him. He had stumbled upon the Leaky Cauldron and had managed to enter Diagon Alley; from there, he slipped through into Knockturn Alley and slowly carved a tiny niche for himself as the years passed. Life for Harry Potter had never been easy, so he had little trouble with the new hardships he faced and adapted quickly to this strange but familiar world. Working odd jobs all around Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley, little Harry was just able to make ends meet most months. On the occasions he didn't, Harry doggedly bore the consequences of hunger, discomfort or pain. He had endured the very same ordeals when he had resided in that tiny house on Privet Drive and, unlike here, he couldn't flee or avoid the suffering inflicted on him. In the Alleys, Harry had always been able to run if he needed to. 

Yes, there had been many very difficult and harrowing episodes in his short life but Harry would readily choose those trials over returning to his abusive muggle relatives. After all, many of his random employers didn't want him dead and could even be generous when the whim took them. His relatives never had a single instance of kindness for him. Going hungry because of no gold to pay for food was far better than being denied the same simply because of what he was. As Harry grew, he always had a little left over for even the humblest of meals. 

Harry pursed his mouth in distaste; banishing the always unpleasant thoughts of his early childhood and recounted instead his steadily rising savings. The pinched look on his face smoothened to a tiny, satisfied smile. Soon, he would finally be able to afford that Gringotts Inheritance Test he desperately wanted. 

There had always been hints throughout his life that Harry wasn't entirely Human. He certainly wasn't a typical Wizard. 

A pang of pain twisted inside of him abruptly when he remembered never receiving the long-awaited, deeply wished-for Hogwarts letter when he turned eleven—this had nearly broken him but he had tenaciously rallied. For a moment, he had believed he was a magicless Squib. 

But, then, he recalled the different people he had met, befriended and worked with who told him he was Magical and, especially, the many snakes who constantly assured him he was not only very magical, but a powerful Magical _Creature_. 

Harry had searched deep in himself… 

The so-familiar energy, perpetually moving and never still that was inside of him. 

He _had_ magic. All the proof was here. 

Not in an undelivered letter. 

"Nine White Witches, seven Black Knights, five Hellraisers, six Goblin Golds, six Midsummer's Dreams and here's a note for a ton of Blood Wines." 

Harry started slightly and looked over to Camille with a quirked mouth and a rueful grimace. "…And here I thought you were done with me." 

She merely grinned unrepentantly. "The night's not over yet, Potter. Oh, and don't work too fast this time around; the customers are mostly soused now so they won't mind it if you weren't so bloody fast. I could use a break myself. While there was a lull for drinks, _I_ had to handle a good deal of food orders." 

Harry shot her a crooked but sympathetic smile and began making the beverages at his ‘relaxed' pace just for her. "Isn't Henry here, you could ask him to help out even if it's only a little while?" he suggested absently. 

Camille groaned, slumping in the stool and leaning over the counter to bury her face in her folded arms. "He's helping Melanie and Tina on the other side. If you think we're loaded; they've got a waiting list. Seriously, who ever heard of a waiting list in a pub and lounge at—" she pulled out her wand and waved "—3:09AM? On a work night!" 

Harry hummed in commiseration. 

The entire rectangular chamber was divided equally into four sections and the massive bar in the center had been split into four quarters. Each block was fully stocked to cater its designated side of the room. Harry's section normally would have held two bartenders but on weekdays Harry was left alone as he hardly had problems with handling all the orders. 

Yes, he was just that good. 

Or, Avis was just that sadistic. 

Harry labored under the latter belief over the former. Avis could just be that cruel. Harry knew he was very talented but there was a fine line between confidence and arrogance; he was very careful not to cross into hubris. Truthfully, the youth didn't really mind being saddled with this much work; he kept all the tips for the bartender on this side and there were plenty of generous clients. Even during the weekends when he was sharing with as much as two other bartenders, the gold he got from the tipbox was always considerable. 

Harry mutely set the first batch of finished drinks down in front of Camille, offering her a sheepish smile. He had slowed down but, he was still fast. She sent him a mild glower, moaned and gave a little whine before squaring her shoulders and stood. Taking the tray up, she requested determinedly. "Have all the rest ready, I think after this bunch, I might finally get a real break." 

"Sure." Harry saw her off with the promise and an encouraging smile. Setting to work, he had five trays of the drinks ready when Camille came back; including the seventy-three Blood Wines Harry had to make. Blood Wines were easy enough to mix, even with all the customizations some Vampires wanted… but, even Harry had a limit. 

Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste and snorted softly to rid himself of the lingering scent of blood. 

"Great job as always," Camille complimented when she returned; passing over her laden tray of empty glasses. 

Harry accepted the tray with a nod of thanks and carried the platter over to the sink. He triggered the cleaning enchantments again to ensure there was no build-up of dirty dishes before returning to his stool and sitting. He observed Camille lightly tapping a the nearly invisible rune carved into the wood of each platter. The trays silently rose after each tap and followed behind her. 

_Yeah, this really feels like a payday weekend_ , Harry mused, giving a little shake of his head. _We don't normally have to do that unless there are really that many people tonight. It's a good thing that once the drinks are mixed; foreign magics won't affect them_ … _it also helps that our trays and glasses are magic resistant and have charms to keep the liquids inside uncontaminated and at whatever temperature the beverage calls for_ … Harry once more internally praised the genius who crafted all the spells the Chamber of Secrets held. From what he was told, they had been made specifically for the Chamber of Secrets and only further raised the club's eminence. 

The Chamber of Secrets was internationally acclaimed to be the most magical location after Hogwarts itself in all of Britain. 

Lately, there had even been very heated debates that the club had already surpassed the old castle because Hogwarts had not been renewing, revising or even improving the spells cast upon the ancient structure. 

The idea of spell crafting fascinated Harry immensely but, unfortunately, it was one magical field that seemed out of his reach. He had no idea if his unique brand of magic would allow him to craft spells at all and where to begin learning even if he could. 

Harry sank further into his chair with a low noise of relief and stretched out his legs; he hadn't rested for so long without a task popping up. Harry had pulled a pair of chilled, nearly brimming goblets of water from the small refrigerator installed under the counter. Draining one of the tumblers, Harry silently praised the Magicals of Japan for their ingenuity and the owner of the Chamber for purchasing the modern magical marvels. Once he finished, he tapped a small rune at the bottom of the container and perfectly chilled water filled the glass again. 

" _Thank Merlin_. I am done." 

In reply to this rather vehement proclamation, Harry picked up the free tumbler, reached over the bar's counter and held out the large goblet in wordless offering. 

"Oh, _thank you_. You’re always such a thoughtful sweetheart, Harry!" 

Finally looking towards Camille, Harry craned his neck before huffing and standing. Damn his short height, or whoever decided that the bar counters were going to be so high! He sent her bright smile, feeling his cheeks warm. “You’re welcome, Cam.” 

The waitress was once more perched on the closest stool to him; nursing the beading tumbler with relish. There was an interlude of calm and quiet. Harry eyed the crowd, in case someone needed anything else so Camille could thoroughly enjoy her well-deserved break. Thankfully, even the buzzer was silent; throughout the last several hours it had squawked frequently. 

Harry had just finished sweeping his gaze over the floor when Camille shook herself slightly and piped up idly. "I know Samhain was nearly three weeks ago but clearly there as still some creepy stories running around." 

Perking up slightly, Harry leaned forward and rested his elbow on the counter. "You mean about the disappearances?" 

Camille nodded and shivered. "Yes, fifty-seven individuals in less than fourteen days have gone missing. The Ministry's going mental; even if they're only reporting thirty-nine; the other victims apparently aren't worth mentioning," the waitress sneered derisively. 

"It's the Ministry and the Daily Prophet," Harry growled bitterly. "The Ministry needs to shape up and work on having a better newspaper; the Daily Prophet's either grossly incorrect or grossly exaggerated. Then again, the British Ministry needs to shape up, period." 

"Our Ministry changing for the better is the biggest miracle of this century, and just as realistic as a dream," Camille scowled and shrugged disdainfully. "The Daily Prophet was half a gossip rag when I was a kid fifteen years ago. It either improves or doesn't, it hasn't got much lower to sink unless it decides to just sprout only gossip; incorrect gossip at that. And, personally, I see the worthless pile of paper falling that low instead of miraculously turning around. I'm more than willing to bet half my tips tonight against half of yours the Prophet _won't_ change. And if it actually does; it would somehow change for the worst." 

"I'm not taking that bet," Harry grinned. 

"Drat!" Camille sighed in mock despair. "Half your tip box is more than my entire share!" 

"Exactly the reason I'm not giving you the chance to get it." Harry drawled, unimpressed. "Your tricks won't work on me." 

They traded laughs and smiles before Camille once more checked over the crowd. Luckily, no one was signaling or calling so she turned back to the youth. 

Harry murmured lowly. "Any victims we know?" 

"Not personally," Camille replied with relief edging her words. "But I know the victims so far are two middle-aged Vampires, four young Vampires, a pack of nine werewolves, two Wizards and a Witch from our side of the fence," she rattled off. "I'm pretty sure the ones on the Daily Prophet's list won't be caught in Knockturn Alley or in any of the seedy dives… although, I think most if not all of them have visited the Chamber. But none of them are any of our regulars, thank Merlin." 

Harry scoffed playfully. "Everyone comes to the Chamber at least once, and everyone usually comes back too." 

"True that," she conceded. "But, like I said, I didn't recognize any of the names when I read the Prophet so none of the thirty-nine are very notable or our _real_ clients." 

Harry nodded. "Thanks for the detailed information as always, Cam." 

Camille Bright was incredibly beautiful but what many didn't know was she had a non-magical talent for easily remembering and pinning names to faces and recalling the most random and fine details. This was one of the reasons she was one of the Chamber's top waitresses—aside from the fact she could easily serve one entire section alone on a payday Weekend night. Knowing the manager's penchant for matching skills, Harry wasn't surprised he had been paired with her. They complimented each other perfectly. 

Harry's mouth quirked as a question struck him. Camille would probably know the answer. "So, what's _he_ planning to do about this? It can't be good for business." 

"New Wards, new detections spells and new protection spells as well as artifacts along with rules that no one goes out alone. It's why we had that unscheduled upgrade last week to the Chamber's spell-web. And, it's why we only have eighteen missing and not as many as the other side," she broke into a very crooked smile. "He was already installing additional safeguards two days after the first batch of people and Creatures disappeared. If you looked closely at the list, that's what majority of the missing are: Wizards and Witches…" She trailed off and added. "The only relief I have is there isn't a child on the list. I think whatever this thing is, it's only after adults. Either Human or otherwise but since there haven't been any bodies found; all everyone has is speculations." 

"Small mercies to be thankful for," Harry agreed, pursing his lips pensively. 

They shared another long moment of silence, Camille checking over the crowd again. "I think we've finally finished watering the lot of them," the waitress announced wryly. "I don't see a single one of them waving or using that buzzer installed in the table or chair." 

"Always good," Harry chuckled "I haven't had to make these many drinks since the last payday." 

"I know." Camille raised her nearly empty glass of water in a salute. "We can also be glad we've got _this_ side. Otherwise, we'd probably still be scrambling." 

Harry could only nod vigorously, his own gaze wandering to the reason this section of the pub and lounge wasn't as crowded as it could have been. At the exact corner of their section was a staircase leading onto a wide platform encircled with a barrier of low rails and where a collection of truly luxurious and comfortable tables and armchairs were neatly arranged. Anyone sitting there could easily overlook the rest of the massive room; even seeing over the circular bar to witness anyone coming and going through the grand double-doors that led onto the floor. This area was always closed off, permanently reserved for the owner of the Chamber of Secrets and his entourage should he deigned to visit the pub and lounge and mingle with his patrons or to hold casual meetings. 

Each of the six public floors of the Chamber of Secrets had such a dedicated area. 

The first floor of the establishment was a restaurant. Harry had worked there briefly, and while the clientele was refined, the sheer volume of incoming customers was downright incredible. The largest number of employees were assigned here and Harry's short stint on the first floor had left him overwhelmed and severely out of his comfort zone. 

One of the main reasons Avis had been easily convinced to move him was his clear distress. 

Harry had been aggressively flirted with by many of the customers; Witch, Wizard and Creature. He had absolutely hated the attention and, on some very rare instances, harassment. Personally, he didn't see why they were so interested in him; he wasn't that good-looking! Secondly, he couldn't muster even the slightest attraction for any of them. And, while Harry could freely admit many of his ‘suitors' were very handsome and beautiful… he could just as quickly say the same for many of his fellow co-workers. 

And, he would rather date one of his colleagues than any of those men, women and creature if he even considered dating in the first place. 

Presently, Harry was too focused on his financial aim to even remotely consider a potential girlfriend… or boyfriend. He wasn't even sure if he wanted a girlfriend, a boyfriend, both or none. Damn Brion! The Lycan had cheerily prattled on about the numerous sexualities that left Harry thoroughly befuddled and determined to tackle that migraine after his current goal was accomplished. 

_Maybe Avis was right_ … Harry mused, internally snickering. _I am really one-track minded sometimes_. 

Harry had definitely enjoyed his work on the second floor more… well, one side of it. 

The second floor was solely devoted to dancing. Like the pub and lounge, the second floor was magically divided and heavily expanded; there was the disco room where the more adventurous, liberal or rebellious Wizards, Witches and Creatures danced to modern music. There was a smattering of high tables and stools circling the wide dancefloor, but the bar at the corner was purely self-serve. The other half of the second floor was a grand ballroom for those seeking classical dances and music. The bar here was not self-serve and there were a good number of waitstaff moving about to attend to the clients. Harry knew that the part containing the ballroom had a section devoted to the Owner who was said had a passing fondness for ballroom dancing. Harry had never seen or heard of him indulging in this pastime since he was hired, though. 

There was a big debate over if he did or didn't enter the disco. The arguments were that the Owner was the consummate perfectionist and would want to inspect the disco section to ensure that the high standards of the Chamber of Secrets was upheld while the other side said that the Owner's refined tastes wouldn't tolerate the ear-splitting sounds even with a powerful Muffling or Silencing Charm. Most of all, the prospect of the Owner forced to move around and endure the closely gyrating bodies left most of the younger staff in tears from laughing so hard. Both sides had good points, sadly, no one was impetuous—or suicidal— enough to ask him. Even someone in the top management who met him regularly. 

Harry had worked in both dark disco and bright ballroom and while each side had a unique charm and he had loved both; the noise level and packed crowds of the disco was overwhelming and seriously aggravated his Inner Creature. The ballroom was less wild but no less fascinating to him. Harry had spent most of his first two months on this floor and had enjoyed the shifts he completed immensely. 

The third floor, however, was one place Harry avoided religiously. All those who were wise did the same. 

The third floor held the grand casino. 

More fortune was lost then gained there and Harry wasn't foolhardy enough to risk his pile of gold on the games. Even if everyone insisted he had the luck of the gods. The prospect of working on the floor wasn't at all appealing either. The bar on the casino floor saw the least work, as most of the guests were more interested in playing the many games than drinking, thus, had the lowest turnout of tips. 

Then, there was this floor; it was a mix of a pub and lounge where the clients could enjoy the Chamber's signature drinks and talk in peace and privacy. And was the very best place for him. Harry had long suspected that many of the meetings held here were less than innocent. Of course, if they wanted true privacy and luxury; the fifth floor was perfect as it contained small and large function rooms. Harry could just imagine the kind of meetings happening in there! He knew that these chambers had private floo networks and could be portkey-ed into via specially crafted portkeys which were part of the many services offered once rented. The Chamber of Secrets prided itself on its unparalleled discretion after all. 

The sixth floor held seven hundred seventy-seven very private, and fully customizable suites. While the Chamber of Secrets never sold itself as a hotel; from what Harry knew from the Grapevine, a moderate chunk of the profits came from the Chamber's extravagant accommodations. Harry also knew that the Chamber of Secrets offered a very highly regarded ‘Escort and Companion' service. He was only too glad he had skills and talents that didn't need him to work there; even if the gold these Escorts and Companions earned was nearly ludicrous. Harry had no wish to sell his body and wanted to be intimate only with someone who mattered to him. His Inner Creature was another, major reason he couldn’t—and _wouldn’t_ — consider becoming an Escort or Companion. The very notion of being intimate with a stranger triggered the immense urge to maim or even kill inside of him. 

Thankfully, his worries had been assuaged when Camille told him that not all of the Escorts and Companions had sex with their clients. In many contracts, the arrangements were purely platonic. She had also assured him adamantly that the services given were carefully negotiated among Escort or Companion, their contractor and the club and all three parties had to approve and willingly sign the written Magical Contract before the Escort or Companion even begun servicing the potential patron. 

The Chamber of Secrets protected its own fiercely and this was one of the many ways it did so. Camille had gleefully recounted a story where an old Pureblood had signed the contract and breached the terms of the arrangement; believing the Chamber of Secrets wouldn't raise an issue since he was a wealthy and valued customer. Suffice to say, the reimbursement left the man in severe pain, nearly bankrupt and banned from ever entering or enjoying any of the Chamber of Secrets' many services. 

The seventh floor belonged solely to the Owner of the Chamber of Secrets. 

Anyone who had ever seen the contents of the seventh floor could never speak of it as a spell of secrecy was placed over all visitors before they were even allowed in. And no one could even reveal if they had even set foot on the floor in the first place. 

He blinked owlishly when Camille's inquisitive voice rang out again. "Harry?" 

"Oh, sorry," he flushed sheepishly, looking over to her. "Just lost in some thoughts. Nothing gloomy!" he insisted when she frowned in worry. "What do you need?" 

Her frown didn’t faint entirely as Camille peered at him carefully. Finally, she nodded slowly in acceptance. Harry fidgeted shyly at her mothering; it still shocked him how familial the staff of the Chamber was. But he secretly soaked up the easy, and honest affection. "It's alright as long as everything is fine," she dismissed finally. "Back to work for you, though." 

"Let's hear it then," Harry encouraged and began memorizing the new orders; inwardly wincing at the large number. "Back to work indeed," he echoed and did just that. 

He couldn't wait for 5:00AM and he had never been more grateful that the waitstaff shifts were only eight hours with a one-hour break for lunch and two fifteen-minute breaks. Well, for his level. Avis had told him that top management could run twelve to eighteen hours in a single day if needed. The time was 4:01AM when he completed the latest batch, and Camille had delivered them all and once more dropped back into her stool to relax and watch the still impressive crowd filling the pub and lounge. The pair were softly chatting to each other when a sharp, deafening hush draped over the already quiet chamber. The silence sweeping from the front of the vast room to their section was abrupt and so palpable that Harry and Camille both halted in mid-murmur and exchanged curious and mildly perplexed looks. 

Then, they both went rigid as a tangible aura of massive magical power surged up and wrapped around them. 

Glancing around rapidly, Harry could see that all the patrons had fallen mute and were merely staring or gazing towards where this magic was strongest; deep awe, immense admiration and profound respect was etched into their stunned or slack features. 

And, Harry realized with a strange amalgamation of anticipation and alarm, for a good number of the guests, there was _recognition_. 

Harry could only wait as this encompassing presence entered the chamber entirely and inexplicably moved closer. 

Camille's eyes were impossibly wide and, while she was still too frozen to make any sound or movement, Harry could tell she was all too aware who this was. 

Harry had his own suspicions. 

When the source of this incredibly powerful aura finally came into his line of sight; he could only stare, transfixed. 

A man was gliding among the tables, stopping often to speak with the patrons. 

Harry barely noticed the large throng circling him. 

The man was utterly _breathtaking_. 

He was garbed in deepest black, the only other color were the silver trimmings and accents on his clothes. The simple but unique cut and style of his entire ensemble both showcased and teased at the man's toned physique and stunning features. But it wasn't only his physical perfection, his flawless poise and intoxicating magic that wholly stunned, entranced and overwhelmed Harry. 

It was that this man had even rendered his Inner Creature equally, thoroughly mesmerized. 

The young bartender didn't need Camille to speak a word or even give him any type of signal. He hadn't once looked away from the figure. 

He couldn't bring himself to. 

He had no more doubts now. 

Lord Voldemort, Master of the Chamber of Secrets, had decided to visit. 


	2. The Long Night Ends

Harry felt his mouth go desert-dry and his jaw slacken. 

Unblinking, the youth watched avidly, Lord Voldemort continued to mingle. Each smooth gesture and fluid shift of his black-clad form holding his gaze effortlessly. Harry was so captivated; he had to inhale sharply, shortly, when his vision swam as he felt himself go light-headed from lack of air because he had forgotten to breathe. 

This, along with a low, harsh noise snapped him out of his daze. 

Incredibly reluctant and imposing his own considerable will, Harry tore his gaze away and looked towards the sound. 

Camille's azure eyes were wide in shock before she stood abruptly, graceful still even in her controlled frenzy. She tapped her wand twice and refreshed her still fresh appearance, leaned forward the counter and did the same for Harry. 

"Look alive!" she murmured briskly, nearly inaudible. "Our night has just got full-out busy." 

Pausing, she peered at him keenly and tossed him an empathic half-smile. "Relax and don't worry about it; everyone has a reaction like that to seeing the Master for the first time. He's really that incredible; just remember what Avis taught you. This is the time you really need to use it and use it _well_." 

Harry nodded jerkily; gathered himself mentally, emotionally and even physically. It took a little longer than usual because his Inner Creature was obstinately fixated on the man. However, Harry finally wrestled that part of him in line too. 

Then once he was calm and in control, slipped into the professional mask he had crafted and relentlessly practiced. Avis had complained often on how long Harry took to master the poker face and bearing all the staff of the Chamber sported and Harry was never more grateful that Avis hadn't stopped until he had a very good handle on himself. He would be the first to admit, he had always been a very emotional and impulsive person. There were still some lapses but not as bad as they were when he was growing up on the streets. This reckless nature had often landed him in so much trouble. 

His uncanny luck was likely the only reason Harry had even survived to celebrate his seventeenth birthday. 

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Harry pointedly shoved aside any musings about Lord Voldemort and planted himself in the middle of the bar; ready to accept any incoming orders. With the new arrival and his impressive entourage, there was definitely a mountain of beverages that needed to be prepared. 

Camille had long since moved away; coming forward to flit around the edge of the milling crowd. Harry watched as she paused briefly at each person. Harry once more admired her elegance and grace as she slipped between the spaces, slowly reaching the side of Lord Voldemort. When she was close, Harry saw her bow respectfully when the man acknowledged her, and he began to speak with her before making a lazy but still very elegant wave of his long-fingered hand. Camille bowed again, deeper, and looked towards the many individuals nearby. Harry knew she was rapidly memorizing the beverages each one of the Owner's guests was asking for. A quick glance towards Lord Voldemort showed the man once more engaged with a nearby wizard and witch. 

However, Harry could clearly see his approval of Camille. The youth straightened as he witnessed the short episode; he had been told that the Owner prized and richly rewarded initiative, swift action and impeccable professionalism in his staff. Camille had clearly met Lord Voldemort's high standards. 

With the same practiced ease, the waitress extracted herself and darted to him. 

Harry burst into movement so swift he was little more than a blur as soon as she finished reciting the long string of orders; knowing he was under the same exacting expectations. Unlike Camille, where her level of competence was measured by how swiftly she attended to her patrons, how perfectly she remembered each drink and for whom; the rating of his performance hinged on how perfectly the drinks were made and how quickly they were prepared. Harry was more than up to the challenge. 

The thrill of Lord Voldemort's arrival hadn't entirely faded so Harry used the complicated feelings he held for the man as fuel to complete the orders in record time. Even for him. 

Camille's impressed smile and especially enthusiastic, whispered praise left him warm with deep satisfaction and pride. The waitress helped him arrange the glasses out on the four trays and once more tapped each platter so they floated after her. She didn't carry one in her hands; Harry knew Camille did it like this so she could pass out drinks quickly when there were many guests needing to be served all at once. The youth watched her deliver those drinks and saw the faces of the guests brighten at their first taste. His sense of accomplishment rose higher at the sight. 

The chatter had slowly increased as the glasses steadily emptied. Although, now that he thought about it… 

Most of the cocktails that had been ordered held very little alcohol; Harry idly speculated it was likely the late (or early) hour. 

There were exceptions, of course; Harry had seen a very large man, obviously a Werewolf, among the throng take the two Hellraisers (with a note for triple shots of firewhiskey each) and downed one in a single swallow before Camille had taken several steps away towards the next, nearest guest. He had neared her and set the finished glass on her tray, grinning broadly, and made a show of smacking his lips. Camille had only smiled professionally and bowed her head lowly when the Werewolf obviously made a compliment. 

He could also be insulting her, and Camille would still be smiling sweetly; she was the consummate professional. Harry highly doubted that was the case here, though. 

Surveying the crowd, Harry felt his mouth quirked in mild confusion once Camille cleared the trays. 

Lord Voldemort was the only one without a glass. 

A trickle of worry rose in him momentarily. Camille would never have made a mistake with the drinks. She was too good… 

Shooting a furtive glance towards the man: Harry felt his rising tension ease somewhat. 

Voldemort wasn't irritated. 

In fact, he even looked faintly satisfied as he glanced around. It was a very clear sign he was pleased with Camille's performance and, likely, Harry's too as all of his guests were evidently enjoying their beverages. Harry had been told that if Lord Voldemort displayed no emotion; he was very unsatisfied and a very clear sign that you needed to improve. NOW. 

If he displayed any outward hint of annoyance, it was the largest warning possible. 

Lord Voldemort had perfect control of himself; his body, his emotions, his mind and his magic. He only revealed what he wanted. For the man to outwardly express displeasure of any kind… well… 

Harry had been told the horror stories of those who disappointed Lord Voldemort to this level. 

Unemployment was the lightest punishment. _Maybe, he isn't in the mood for a drink?_ Harry mused finally, hopefully. 

His light thoughts vanished instantly when Camille returned, silently setting the trays onto the counter. 

She wasn't smiling. 

"What?" he whispered urgently. 

"All the drinks were perfect and everyone's praising how quick the orders got to them…" she assured him lowly, firmly. 

Feeling a wave of relief, Harry sent her a mild glower. "What's the problem then?" 

Camille held his gaze and said quietly, "One Basilisk." 

_Oh, shit_. 

Harry froze in shock. "Are you kidding me?!" he hissed, ignoring the edge of hysteria painting his voice. "I'm officially not allowed to make that drink unless Avis is present. Lena, Otis, and three other senior bartenders are here too. They all have far more—" 

"The Master wants _you_ to make it." 

_**Double** shit_. 

Harry inhaled deeply to steady himself, his hands falling to the counter behind the bar, and gripped the smoothened edge tightly. 

Camille leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to hardly above a whisper. "It's why he didn't order his drink along with the rest; he told me he wants you to make it for him and for you to take your time… Well, you know what I mean given how it's made…" she shrugged helplessly before flashing him a bright, encouraging smile. "It isn't your fourth or fourteenth Basilisk, Harry. This is your seventeenth glass. You can do it!" 

"Yeah," Harry muttered. " _No_ pressure _**at all**_." 

While this would be his seventeenth attempt. What had put him on a very narrow edge was just for _who_ he was making this particular Basilisk. Honestly, Harry would have much preferred messing up number seventeen and paying that exorbitant 2,500 galleons instead of dealing with this situation. 

Camille peered at him closely, letting the seconds trickle by. Her concern deepened as she saw Harry continue to struggle to retain his calm and collect himself. Finally, she leaned forward and murmured decisively. "If you aren't 100% sure; I'll speak with him and request he have either Lena or Otis make it for him. He would understand—it really is a very difficult drink, none of the Senior Bartenders ever made one specifically for the Master until they were well passed their thirtieth glass." 

"Oh, this just makes the fact he wants me to make it now all the more significant," Harry mumbled. He was seriously considering her offer. It wasn't going to affect his standing if he refused to make the cocktail so it was very tempting to accept the offer. 

By some instinct, Harry turned his head away from Camille as she was still whispering furiously, and his slightly wild emerald eyes met bright crimson. 

Lord Voldemort was looking towards him; he had clearly been observing the pair's low, frenzied exchange. 

Even in the muted lights of the pub and lounge, Harry could see the tiny (too-damn-sexy) but, more importantly, _challenging_ smirk. 

A single, dark eyebrow slowly arched questioningly as they locked gazes across the room. 

The man clearly didn't think Harry was up to the test and was obviously expecting him to back out. 

Instantly, Harry's barely repressed panic and self-doubt was snuffed out by the surge of stark indignation and his sudden consuming need to prove the smug, skeptical man wrong. 

…Alright, so Avis' efforts to quell Harry's tempestuous nature weren't entirely successful. 

Even if the man was his real boss and had the power and influence to ruin his new life with a single word, even if the likely humiliation and financial setbacks this could cause him if he failed were substantial; Harry wasn't going to tuck his tail between his legs and slunk off like a cowed dog. His Inner Creature was literally _spitting_ at the very idea of retreating now. It was a tiny comfort that his Inner Creature had managed to shake off its enthrallment over the man to show this defiance. 

If Lord Voldemort believed Harry would fold under the stress and expectations, he would not only show the wizard he wasn't at all what he had labeled. 

Instead, Harry would make the best damn Basilisk Lord Voldemort ever tasted! 

Harry stifled the little voice telling him he was walking headfirst into trouble. Again. 

_If all else fails_ … _I've still got my crazy luck_ , Harry thought. 

With renewed vigor, he began moving purposely. 

Camille broke off mid-word, stared at him in surprise before grinning broadly. " _Go_ , _Harry_!" she cheered quietly but ardently. Afterwards, she turned away to watch the crowd. 

Harry willed himself deaf from the low din of hushed voices and carefully ignored the intoxicating magical presence of Lord Voldemort that heavily draped the room. All that mattered were the tall glass and the bottles holding the expensive ingredients to make the Chamber of Secret's best signature cocktail he had arranged in front of him. 

Harry slowly reached into himself, searched and touched his magic. 

He worked his magic very differently from Wizards and Witches but Harry had become very proficient. 

He had needed all of his gifts to raise himself after all. 

Avis' harsh training had only further honed them. 

When he and his magic were ready, Harry started. 

First, he allowed the shaped tendril of power to reach out and touch all of the ingredients. 

The instance he felt the contact of his magic with the slumbering magic of each ingredient; Harry began the silent, steady count. 

_One second_. 

Harry simultaneously stimulated the magic inside each bottle rigorously; carefully observing as the ingredients activated. 

_Two seconds_. _Three seconds_. 

At the close of the third second, Harry found and memorized the unique pattern revealed. 

_Four seconds_. 

His hands snapped out; grabbing one softly glowing bottle after the other, slowly or swiftly upending the liquids in the precise sequence the magic demanded. 

_Five seconds_. _Six seconds_. _Seven seconds_ — 

Harry stalled on the last bottle between the sixth and seventh second; magic and instinct holding him still for a moment then poured all of the liquid as— 

_Eight seconds_. 

Hardly breathing, Harry stared as the cocktail came together when the eighth second concluded. 

There was a deep, sensual hiss and a small, brilliant flash of incredibly intense magical energy. 

A silvery smoke shaped like a perfect miniature basilisk rose and twisted and twined over the glass as the liquids roiled, merged— 

Then, abruptly settled. 

In front of Harry was a tall glass of still, clear liquid. 

Reverently, he lifted the glass just beneath the rim and held it towards a nearby light. 

The liquid inside looked like the purest spring water. 

Harry grinned hard enough he could feel his jaw ache from the wide stretch. 

This, from its appearance alone, was undisputedly the best Basilisk Harry had made. 

However, when his magic brushed against the liquid and encountered the familiar cascade of purest melded magics within the crystalline fluid; Harry knew this Basilisk was flawless. 

A swiftly muffled squeal made him look towards Camille. 

She beamed broadly when she caught his gaze. " _Merlin_ , Harry," she breathed, azure eyes practically glittering. "You are incredible!" 

Harry winked, still high from actively using his magic and his glorious success. "Thanks." 

He gently set the glass onto the tray Camille held before him. 

Without another word, Camille glided toward Lord Voldemort. 

Harry watched eagerly. 

He wouldn't miss what would happen next for the world. 

The crowd around Lord Voldemort parted as she neared; all eyes instantly locking onto the seemingly simple glass with awe, hunger and envy. Many of the guests exclaiming loudly in wonder and admiration. Lord Voldemort himself had also stopped conversing; crimson eyes focused entirely on the glass as well. 

With all of her formidable elegance and poise, Camille presented the beverage to him while executing a small bow. 

Harry silently thanked his friend for making the final presentation even better. 

The crowd around Lord Voldemort had long gone silent, merely an audience now. 

Casually, the man reached out—seriously, how could he make every single move so bloody graceful and sensual?!—wrapped his long fingers around the glass, between the rim and the liquid. He raised the glass and took a slow sip. 

The crimson eyes fluttered shut and an absolutely _sinful_ smile stretched across his pink lips as he rolled the liquid inside his mouth before swallowing. 

Harry gripped the counter hard to keep from collapsing. 

The already incredible magical presence filling the room somehow _intensified_. Around him, Harry could see many of the patrons and, especially, those standing nearby physically stagger under the veritable onslaught. 

_Maybe, I made it too perfectly_ , Harry thought dazedly, breathing unsteadily as he struggled to regain control and calm. His Inner Creature was practically swooning under the magic saturating the cavernous room. 

The Basilisk's simple, outward façade was meant to deceive and lull. The perfect Basilisk looked like the purest water. 

The taste of the cocktail, however, was everything and nothing simple. 

The flavors created by the Basilisk was utterly unique in how it tasted for each person. 

The Basilisk invoked the most unforgettable and beloved flavors a person would have. 

Harry remembered Avis telling him that for him the Basilisk tasted like unending success and full contentment. 

Lena told him that for her the Basilisk tasted like absolute peace and true security. 

Otis said that the Basilisk tasted like the greatest ecstasy and utter completion. 

For Harry, the Basilisk had tasted like unconditional freedom and genuine acceptance. 

Staring at Lord Voldemort, Harry mused that for him the Basilisk would probably taste like limitless power and ultimate victory. 

The true magic and might of the Basilisk lay not only in the fact it would taste like the sweetest thing you ever tasted but what it did for the drinker. The Basilisk refreshed and renewed the body, mind and magic; clearing any physical and metaphysical toxins in the body and the magic. It had even been proven that it could mitigate and probably heal the greatest magical diseases that plagued the Magical World with frequent consumption. 

Avis had once told Harry that Saint Mungo's would _kill_ to get their hands on the formula and ingredients of the Basilisk; Harry didn't doubt him in the slightest. The medicinal capabilities of the Basilisk easily made it into a miracle potion. Sadly, only Lord Voldemort knew what each of the key ingredients were and where to find them. He had also ensured the knowledge of the process was sealed under a very precisely worded, unbreakable oath and complex spell-web that protected against Legilimency or any other forms of Mind Magics. Harry still felt his head spin when Avis had explained the complex protections involved. With the extreme difficulty of the process and coupled with the fact that only Lord Voldemort knew what and where to get any of the ingredients, the Basilisk remained purely in the possession of the man and he hoarded this knowledge with jealous tenacity. 

Idly, Harry recalled his awe and deep curiosity when he found out that apparently what they were making was a diluted version! Harry had heard from the Chamber Grapevine that Lord Voldemort had never ever disclosed the true formula or showed the full potency of the Basilisk to anyone. But, everyone knew it existed and that it was suspected or believed that the true Basilisk potion was the reason for Lord Voldemort's eternal youth. 

Staring at the tall, imposing form of the striking man, Harry would have assumed his age was thirty, at most thirty-four. It was also undisputable: Lord Voldemort was in the absolute peak of his physical prime and magical power even though it was known that he had passed his seventy-first birthday months ago. 

He was also insanely attractive. Harry had _never_ encountered anyone who so thoroughly captivated him. Impossibly, his Inner Creature was even more entranced. He had even found the man's arrogance and mocking of him earlier seriously attractive! And absolutely infuriating, of course. 

Harry crossed his arms and huffed; his indignance reawakening at the memory. _Well, I just proved him wrong_ , he thought with vicious glee. 

He stared after the wizard, noticing with more contentment that the glass was already half-empty. The only issue Harry had was the aura the man was exuding; each small swallow making the incredibly intoxicating aura spike and was practically leaving him drugged. 

His sour thoughts and feelings didn't linger; he was still too delighted over his triumph and the view. 

Because, definitely, Lord Voldemort was something fantastic to look at. 

Harry mused fleetingly that if he had ever met the man and not known who he was; he would have easily entertained the notion of a relationship. 

Hell, even if he knew who the man was, Harry was more than willing to pursue a possible intimate liaison. 

And even his Inner Creature was wholly agreeable to the crazy venture. 

Harry shivered, quickly quelling the sudden and great rise of stark arousal as he stared after the broad, riveting figure. 

Flushing darkly at where his thoughts had fallen, Harry internally slapped himself. 

Lord Voldemort was the worst person he could have taken an interest in. There were just too many reasons for him to never become involved with the wizard unless it was purely professional. Harry sternly berated himself that this wasn't just reckless, it was downright idiotic. Most importantly, he wasn't going to jeopardize his new job and long-time goal because he had finally discovered his preferences and his hormones. 

… _stop thinking about it_! Harry ordered himself sternly as he felt another, new wave of intense arousal, easily stronger now as even his Inner Creature was becoming increasingly approving of the prospect. 

Movement snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts and he wrenched his eyes away from Lord Voldemort; relieved, grateful and annoyed at Camille who had taken her seat near him once more. He was only more relieved that she hadn't brought any new orders. 

"Congratulations," she said, smiling softly. "That was definitely one of the best, if not the best, Basilisk I've seen made!" 

Harry felt his mouth split into a proud smile. "Thanks, I can say it's the best one I've ever done." 

Camille nodded but kept her silence. 

They easily fell into a companionable hush, Harry let his eyes rove over the pub and lounge. He forcibly ensured that his gaze settled on Lord Voldemort for only a few seconds before moving on but, sadly, Harry discovered his eyes and focus would always return to the man. Muted conversation had restarted, but no distinct words carried to the bar. Lord Voldemort was nursing his drink, relishing each sip, and Harry had to brace himself with each swallow as the wizard's majestic magic flared so alluringly. He was holding court. Harry couldn't say he was simply having a conversation; from the enraptured expressions and complete attention the man commanded, it was not as simple as him merely talking. 

Briefly, Harry wondered what he sounded like? It would probably be as perfect and as sensual as the rest of him was…. 

Inhaling deeply and stopping that dangerous line of thought, Harry busied himself with neatening up his workspace. 

"Calmed down enough yet?" 

Harry snapped his head towards the familiar voice and felt his face burn. Camille was grinning at him knowingly. 

"You're enjoying this," he accused, scowling. 

She chuckled with no hint of remorse. "A little. But then again, I was in your shoes two years ago when I started out so this kind of reminds me how stupid I acted," she grinned wider at his glower. "If it helps, I couldn't work near him for six months before I finally learned how to control myself." 

"That's not really reassuring," Harry grumbled. Cocking his head to the side, he asked, "How'd you get yourself under control?" 

"I repeatedly told myself that my relationship with him is purely professional, I have a job to do and, most of all, he would never be interested in me. And, even if he was; he isn't the kind of person I would want to have a relationship with. Finally, it helps I've got myself a fantastic boyfriend and I'm more than happy with him." 

Harry blinked. "Why wouldn't you want to be with Lord Voldemort?" 

Camille blushed. "Oh, don't get me wrong, Harry. He's an incredible catch and whoever lands him would be one of the luckiest persons in the world. But, he's too intense, way too powerful for me. I would be crushed under him. Besides, he needs someone who would be able to withstand him at least a little, or constantly challenge him. He's got my highest respect and, he's a great boss, but he's also absolutely terrifying…" 

Harry looked back towards the man. _That intensity and power just makes him so much more attractive_ … _well, to me anyway. I guess for others it's too overwhelming and smothering_ , he hummed. _I'm not sure about how terrible he can be, I've never seen his temper myself but if there is any weight to the stories. His anger is legendary, so is his viciousness_ … 

While he had been overwhelmed at first, Harry realized he was becoming accustomed to Lord Voldemort's incredibly powerful magic and presence. Even if those magical surges were extremely distracting. The corners of his mouth uplifted suddenly, and Harry had to admit Camille was right. He should copy what she did and set in stone that he only had a purely professional relationship with the Wizard; he also hardly doubted he would be anything to Lord Voldemort than another one of his waitstaff. 

_Naturally, my very first crush would be the most unattainable person ever_. Harry rolled his eyes. _Just my luck_. 

Feeling too restless to sit, Harry stood and continued to sweep his gaze across the pub and lounge. This time, he made a very determined point of ignoring Lord Voldemort. 

He was somewhat successful. 

Harry's distracted musings vanished when he abruptly went still; his entire lithe form seizing up. 

Amidst the intoxicating aura of Lord Voldemort and the low din of voices … 

Was a new, subdued and evidently concealed presence. 

Insidious. Inhuman. _Unwelcome_. 

There was an interloper inside the Chamber of Secrets. 

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he began to slowly stalk around his part of the bar, seeking. His searching gaze instantly latched onto a voluptuous form moving easily, smoothly through the crowd towards Lord Voldemort. She had clearly only arrived in the pub and lounge; she would stop and exchange a few words here and there with the other guests, but it was clear where she wanted to be. 

Harry immediately recognized the gorgeous dark-haired woman in the exceedingly elegant robes and polished manners. 

Lady Belianne Frost. 

A Witch of noble descent from North America and one of the Chamber of Secret's countless regulars. 

Harry easily recalled this fact and recognized her effortlessly as she would often visit the club, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man. According to the Chamber Grapevine, she had been very diligently attempting to gain Lord Voldemort's attentions and, most of all, affections. Although, Harry had to admit, unlike the many other women (men and even Creatures) who were constantly flinging themselves onto the powerful Wizard; she had far more elegance, class and cunning. She had certainly achieved some progress, tiny as it was and probably not in the way she had aimed for. Harry had heard that the man tolerated her company because she was an exceptional conversationalist and was a strong-willed, very talented witch. However, Lord Voldemort never sought her out; it was always she who went to him. It was why she was practically a fixture in the club for so many years. 

The lovely woman walking through the crowd and up to Lord Voldemort who had turned and smiled charmingly, greeting her with the tiniest semblance of warmth and reaching to take her hand, appeared to be the Lady Belianne Frost. Her mannerisms, her body and her magic were unmistakable to Harry. 

But… 

His Inner Creature and Magic were spitting madly and howling that she— _it_ was _not_. 

Whoever, _whatever_ he was watching near the Master of the Chamber of Secrets was an imposter. 

And no one, not even Lord Voldemort himself, seemed aware of this. 

Unbidden, a low noise seemed to build in his chest; the sound sharpening to a dark, continuous hiss and he burst into movement. 

Harry vaunted over the bar's wide counter, ignoring Camille's voice calling frantic questions. 

There was no time. 

Darting over the sprawling floor of the pub and lounge so rapidly it was like he apparated, Harry slammed headlong into the ‘Lady' just as her pale fingers were about to rest on Lord Voldemort's broad palm. The pair of them flew away from the man and collided into the unforgiving floor with enough force to break normal bones; Harry didn't doubt either of them were normal as all he felt was some cracks then those sharp throbs of pain that faded instantly as he healed. 

Now viciously hissing challenges and threats at the writhing form held in his hold, Harry unwound an arm and his hand shot out to curl around a pale throat. He began to squeeze purposely. 

Dimly, he was aware of the uproar around him but he was too focused on this threat. 

Its intent had been clear. 

This abomination had entered his nest; aiming to hunt and harm. 

He glared down at the thrashing and snarling _thing_ , the beautiful features of the Witch twisting grotesquely as she bared her unusually sharp teeth up at him. Harry gripped hard enough to snap the slender neck but, as he had suspected; the ‘bone' underneath was not so fragile. Instinct guiding him, Harry raised up his arm high overhead; shaping the hand into a blade and stabbing down _hard_. 

With a satisfying crack, Harry broke open the breastbone beneath him and plunged his hand inside. There was a sharp crescendo of voices but these were quelled quickly. 

Harry hardly noticed because as he buried his entire hand inside the woman's chest… 

There was no blood. 

And, what he found wasn't a heart. He enfolded the still moving object in his fist and _yanked_. 

What Harry pulled out of the limp body was no human organ. Instead, it was a small, greatly malformed, humanoid beast that shrieked in wordless rage. 

Harry freed his other hand from what was now likely a corpse and wrapped both hands around the wildly struggling creature. 

Screams and shouts intermingled with the howls and shrieks but Harry continued to ignore the deafening cacophony. Magic was surging around him, his own and another seemingly limitless power. Both his and this wonderous magic were working together; his to debilitate, strike and eliminate this clear threat and the other magic to protect and cage the creature so it would not escape. 

Harry remained fixed on the thing he was gripping. He knew that without its shell the creature was greatly weakened, however, it was still tremendously feral and deadly. Clawing and biting desperately, its flailing talon-tipped hands and feet tearing into Harry. The black-haired youth stoically endured the injuries. 

Bracing himself, Harry gathered his formidable strength; feeling that familiar power thrum along his veins and into his muscles, filling him to the brim. As he waited, his left hand remained clutching the beast's small neck while his right hand slid down to hold the emancipated waist. 

Then, when he was straining from the effort; he brutally _wrenched_ his hands wide apart. Ripping the creature in half… 

And watched silently in shock when the body disintegrated into fine black ash as a thunderous roar of fury drowned out all the noises. Slumping forward, Harry pressed his empty, soot-coated palms onto the cold floor. Lady Belianne's body had also mysteriously vanished; not that this mattered to him presently. What he felt was relief and triumph; he was also swiftly growing light-headed. 

Abruptly, a ferocious pain burst from inside his chest and spread all over his body instantly. In the center of this agony was an alien presence that was unfurling inside of him. A deadly hunger and purpose traveling his veins and seeking… 

Harry released an unrestrained scream when the agony peaked and he fell forward, convulsing and clawing at his chest. 

Curling into himself, he locked onto this awareness; realizing with horror and shock what was happening. 

The creature had somehow entered him when its body had been destroyed and was now aiming to turn him into its new shell. 

And it was achieving this goal by stealing all of his magic and probably possessing his dead body as the act of draining magic was going to kill him. 

Like it had done to Lady Belianne. 

_Well_ , he mused fleetingly through the excruciating pain. _At least, I now know for sure I really **do** have magic_ … _and **a lot of it**. I should be dead by now_ … 

Gritting his teeth and trapping the ragged sobs that wanted to escape him, Harry tracked the Creature's trail; realizing the reason it hadn't instantly killed him was because most of his magic wasn't condensed in a Magical Core like a normal Wizard or Witch. His entire body was infused with his magic. 

_His_ magic. 

Yes, it was _his_ magic this creature was feasting on. 

A dark grin split his lips. _You want my magic, huh_ …? 

When he had been nine, Harry had an encounter that brought him the closest to death he had ever been; closer than when his relatives had left him out in the middle of winter for an entire night with no warm coat when he had only been six. Knockturn Alley was dangerous, doubly so for a homeless child. When Harry was cornered by a Wizard notorious for his liking for children and violence; the little boy had believed he would finally, really die. 

But, Harry Potter was a survivor. 

At the age of nine, Harry chose to kill in order to live. 

The serpents had always told Harry; he was one of them. Harry discovered how true this was that fateful night so long ago. 

Closing his eyes, Harry focused. 

His magic was draining rapidly but he only needed a little to do what he wanted. 

The alien presence continued to gorge, oblivious to the doom Harry was readying; eagerly devouring the youth's magic like a starving man. 

Harry waited. 

A malicious satisfaction filled him when he felt the trap close. 

The presence stopped feeding, shocked. This swiftly morphed to horror and the creature withdrew in a panic… 

_Too late_ , Harry gloated inwardly. 

A voiceless scream; infused with so much agony Harry hadn't imagined the little beast could even feel such. Still, he found its terrible suffering immensely gratifying. 

_Payback's a bitch_ , he thought vindictively. _I'm much worse_. 

Another gift of his Creature nature; Harry could willfully create poisons with his magic or, in this case, turn his magic utterly venomous. He had learned to fine-tune this ability when he was young, to see what he could do with his magic. It had been of immeasurable help to him as he grew. He had mastered how to wield the power of his magic in other, unique ways. 

With the lightest touch, he could paralyze, drug or kill. From a small episode of dizziness, to instant or a slow, agonizing death; Harry could shape his magic into the most surgical of weapons. 

All without a wand. 

_And Wizards and Witches always believed themselves to be the highest form of Magical Being_ , the youth scoffed. 

Gasping sharply, Harry was jerked out of his haphazard musings when his entire body unfurled from his fetal position on the floor, shuddering, and pulled himself up on his hands and knees. Bowing his head, he began retching violently. Each gagging motion expelling a column of vile, black sludge. The viscous liquid splattered onto the hardwood, stretching out into a small, sable river. 

Harry didn't know how long he was vomiting but when he gave one final heave that forced the largest geyser of sludge he had seen out; his throat felt absolutely _raw_. 

"…that was absolutely _**gross**_!" Harry rasped weakly. 

Belatedly, he realized it was deathly _silent_ and his disgusted cry had rattled the still air. Weakly, he started to lift his head but, to his horror and revulsion, he felt his body abruptly lose all strength and collapse forward instead. 

Right towards his puke. 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut; hoping he wouldn't be conscious when he hit the revolting puddle of— 

Powerful, sinuous magic encircled him, halting his fall and raised him up; high enough that his powerless limbs weren't even touching the dirty floor and merely dangled loosely in the air. 

"You have definitely more than impressed me tonight, Mr. Potter," a deep, velvety baritone rumbled over him like distant thunder that shook his very bones and burrowed deep inside him; his Inner Creature was absolutely preening under the rich praise. "Now, rest." 

Harry was too exhausted to argue. 


End file.
